Words on a page that might help me, or you, someday, maybe.

Blister

Today I ran until it hurt and then I turned around and ran back home. Literally. The soles of my feet are covered in blisters, and it hurts to walk, and stand, and wear shoes. But it only hurts if you let it. It only hurts if you think about it. It doesn’t hurt if you just keep going. It’s all in your head. You’re thinking ‘this hurts’ ‘this hurts’ ‘this hurts’ with every foot you put in front of the other and it only hurts because the receptors in the skin on the soles of your feet send a message to your brain to tell you ‘this hurts’ ‘this hurts’ ‘this hurts’ you’re not in pain because of your feet you’re in pain because of your brain and if you choose to let your brain focus on something else then your feet don’t hurt any more. Alternatively, you can let the pain consume your brain and then you don’t have to think for a while. And you can just concentrate on running without having to worry about thinking. At some point you have to turn around. Because you’ve got things to do. But all you want to do is carry on because the pain is distracting if you let it, and minimal if you ignore it. And you’re in control for once. And you’re doing something and you’re making progress and it’s supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to hurt. Whether it’s your feet or your bones or your heart or your head it’s supposed to hurt. Because it’s hard. Letting the pain in pushes the doubt out of the way. “I can’t do this” “I want to turn around” ‘I want to go home” Shut up and suffer, because it’s worth it. And the noise in your ear tells you that you’re now five miles from home. Which means it’s five miles back. But this time you want to carry on. You’ve ran every day for a week and you’re feeling good. I mean, you’re in pain but that’s relative. It’s irrelevant. Because you made it five miles, and you can make the other five. And once you conquer your mind then the body bit comes easy. Left. Right. Left right left. Quicken the pace to overtake the walkers. Slow down to cross the road. Look both ways. Look again. The bass in your headphones drowns out the sound of traffic. Five miles home. Shoes off. Socks are covered in blood. You literally ran until your feet bled. It doesn’t matter. It’s relative. It’s irrelevant.